He Was There
by Radon65
Summary: House breaks off his friendship with Wilson, feeling that he's keeping his friend from enjoying life. But he needs Wilson, and Wilson needs him.
1. Chapter 1

Hot off the presses! I haven't even looked through it. Tell me what you think.  


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**He Was There**

House studied the grain of wood in his cane without really looking at it. His mind had gone inward, and he was doing some deep thinking. He needed Wilson. Needed him. He was always there, to listen to his ranting, to inspire his diagnoses, and to help with his never-ending pain. But Wilson didn't need him. He'd been watching the man lately, like he always watched him, looking for something to analyze, something to grasp a hold of and wave it in front of Wilson's face like a battered trophy. But what he'd seen he hadn't wanted to wave in front of Wilson's face for once. Wilson was tired. The way he came to work with his hair slightly less than perfect, the way his tie wasn't always a different tie from the previous day, the way he clung to his coffee mug and sighed when House came to see him. He was tired, and stressed. And it was because of his high-maintenance best friend. It was because of him.

He'd been there, last week, when House had had poker night. Wilson hadn't wanted to go. But House had just solved a tough case, one that made him and team think something about themselves, and House was a little tired himself and needed to blow off some steam. And he needed to do it not just with his regular poker buddies, but with his best friend across the table from him, to nag at and guess his cards and watch turn red. Wilson had understood. And so Wilson had been there.

He'd been there, a few days ago, when House had needed a ride to work. The bike had been acting up lately, and finally that morning it had refused to start. House had called his friend when Wilson had been halfway to the hospital. Wilson had had to turn around, almost show up late himself, skip his coffee. But House had needed him. He'd needed a ride to work, a ride that didn't involve a taxi driver staring sympathetically at his leg, or a crowd of people banging into him or offering him their seats on the bus. Wilson had understood. And so Wilson had been there.

He'd been there, night before last, when House had been crouched on the floor of his apartment in terrible pain. He'd had a hard day on the leg, and it had been punishing him fiercely for it. It had hurt so much, he'd called Wilson to come over and help before he fainted. Wilson had had to get up from resting after a hard days' work, get in his car and drive over, make an excuse to his wife. But House had needed him. Needed him to come over, offer his comfort, let House squeeze his hand when the pain became unbearable, make him tea, and get down his secret stash of morphine that House could no longer reach for the pain, without complaining too much about it. Wilson had understood. And so Wilson had been there.

But when had House been there for Wilson? Not when Wilson had needed a friend's ear, or some time alone, or a cup of coffee. House had to ignore him, annoy him, brush him off and not take the time. And yet House ate up Wilson's time, destroyed what relaxation Wilson could have, ragged on him until his congenial mood was worn thin. That needed to change. Wilson was tired. Wilson was stressed. And Wilson didn't need House.

House levered himself up from his chair with his cane and left for Wilson's office.

ooo00ooo

House opened the door without knocking. _Typical_, Wilson thought as he looked up from his paperwork. He wondered briefly why he even bothered to not be surprised. House stood, his silohuette framed by the doorway, the long shaft of his cane reaching down to the floor. Three words fell from House's lips.

"You should go."

Wilson was confused. "What?"

"I'm hurting you. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"House, what are you talking about?"

"We're friends. Friends are supposed to look out for each other." He paused and looked down at the floor. "You do. I don't." He looked up again. "But I want to. And that means you should go."

"House, I don't understand. You're not hurting me."

"Yes, I am. I'm keeping you from living a normal life. You always have to hang around, make me happy, buy me Tic-Tacs, make sure I don't do anything stupid. Well, no more. I can take care of myself, and you need to get away from me."

"House, I don't know what to say." He didn't know what to say. House had come in unexpectedly, and offered him the destruction of their friendship. It was... surreal. House, in his own, awkward way, was trying to do something... nice. But Wilson didn't want their friendship to end. And yet... he was tired from the poker game last week, weary from taking House to work a few days ago, and exhausted from dealing with House's pain night before last.

"Say yes. It's important to you. It's important to me."

"I..." Wilson sighed. But he understood. He was tired. And he wanted that to go away. "Okay. You're right. You are hurting me. And I need a break. Just a break," he said quickly. House looked at him impassively. He sighed again.

"Okay."

House nodded once, and left the office.

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Don't worry, there's a second chapter. I'm just waiting to get as many reviews as I can. So review! Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter is here. It's just a two-shot. This is set sometime in seasons 1 or 2, but I will grudgingly admit that it was inspired by The Social Contract. Enjoy!  


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It had been a week. Wilson was happy. House was desperate. He'd stopped talking to Wilson altogether, avoided him at lunch, and left work without seeing him. But he'd poked his head around corners and surreptitiously watched as Wilson chatted with Cuddy, and listened from a distance to Wilson calling his wife and telling her fairly happily that he'd be home for dinner. Something in his tone seemed to be missing. Something _was_ bothering him. House knew what that was. But it would go away. And House would be sure it never came back.

He was sitting in his office, pausing a moment before heading home. He'd solved another case today, a little boy whose parents had thanked him profusely and made Cameron smile until he'd finally been able to pry himself away. He reached down to massage his leg. It was weary after the day's exertions, and no doubt it would give him trouble tonight, especially as it was getting colder and he was going home on the bike. He bounced his ball against the wall a few times, then got up to leave.

ooo00ooo

It _was_ cold driving home on the bike. By the time he reached his apartment, his leg was protesting angrily. He hissed in pain as he dismounted, and half-hopped up to the door. He stepped inside. The warmth enveloped him, feeling good on most of him, but causing a burning in his leg as the heat met his chilled muscles. He gritted his teeth and looked at the phone. _No_. He was _not_ going to call Wilson.

He threw his keys on the coffee table and stumbled into the kitchen. He put some tea on that would hopefully sooth him when it warmed. Then he turned and limped his way to the bookcase, where he flung a hand up and reached for the morphine box. And missed. He needed to be higher. He half-jumped, his fingers brushing it, but not quite knocking it down. He leaped, just barely missing the right height, and as he landed, his ankle twisted awkwardly beneath him, and he fell.

He struggled to open his eyes against the blinding haze of pain. His hands had automatically reached for his leg, gripping it tightly and frantically trying to sooth the angry flares that shot up in it. He swallowed to diffuse the bile that had fought its way up his esophagus, and grimaced as the bitter taste receded, leaving a burning in the back of his throat. He looked upward at an angle as he forced his eyes open, and caught sight of the phone, sitting on the end table. Again, the thought came to his mind. _No_. He wouldn't call Wilson. He wouldn't do that to his best friend. _Former_ best friend, he corrected himself. Wilson had said it was a break. House would make sure it was more than that.

He struggled to get to his feet. He needed the morphine, and it was still high on the shelf. He fell back, gasping, as the pain won out. He fished his Vicodin out of his pocket and swallowed three of them. Another lance of pain came up his leg, and he cried out in spite of himself. The phone lurked menacingly in the background, but he clung to his resolve.

And then something happened.

His cell phone rang.

Somehow he got it out of his pocket and answered it without thinking.

"What?" he snarled through his agony.

"House?" the voice on the other end was familiar. House closed the phone immediately and cursed himself for not checking to see who it was first. He cried out again as the pain took its toll. The Vicodin kicked in and eased it a little, but the pain flared each time he moved and rising was out of the question. He didn't know how long he there in a haze of pain, but suddenly he heard the door opening and Wilson's voice.

"House? You didn't sound well on the phone..." Wilson made a sound of surprise and knelt immediately beside his friend. House sighed. He would never get Wilson to go away now.

"You weren't supposed to be here," House growled. "Why did you call?"

"I wanted to see you again," Wilson said. "Shall I get you your morphine?"

"Yes," House gasped weakly, giving in. Wilson jumped and easily retrieved the small box from the top of the bookshelf. He opened it and pulled out a syringe. "You should go after this," House said heavily. He could see Wilson shake his head.

"I want to be friends again, House. This isn't working. I need you." He injected the morphine into House's shoulder.

"You don't need me," House rasped. "I need you."

"We need each other," Wilson said firmly. "You should have known this wasn't going to last long." House smiled as the morphine began to take effect.

"Julie?" he asked. Wilson chuckled.

"Left her at the table."

"Too bad," House muttered.

"We can make this work, House. We'll talk about it when you're feeling better."

"Yeah." House drifted into a half-sleep, and he didn't worry, because Wilson understood.

He was there.

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The End. Hope that was good. Please review!


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